


Don't Blink You Might Miss

by poetzproblem



Series: Don't Blink [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams are like stars...you may never touch them, but if you follow them they will lead you to your destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Blink You Might Miss

**Don't Blink You Might Miss**

 

 _But heaven ain't close in a place like this_  
_Anything goes but don't blink you might miss  
_ _~Somebody Told Me, The Killers_

 

xox

 

It takes nearly two hours to drive the ninety-two miles that separate Lima from Columbus. He had to close the shop at noon to even have a chance of making it here before three o'clock, and his old truck doesn't handle the distance nearly as well at it once did. He makes a few wrong turns trying to find the right street, so he really doesn't have time to admire the historic buildings in German Village, not that he really would anyway, because that old stuff doesn't really interest him. He's always been more about the here and now. He finally finds the place and manages to luck into a close parking space, stumbling out of his truck and striding urgently along the brick walkway that leads to his destination. He barely manages to rush into the gated courtyard of  _The Book Loft_  before a dour-faced, middle-aged woman closes the queue. He flashes her a charming grin as he edges past her just before she can snap the rope in place. She glares disapprovingly at him, but she doesn't toss him out of the line, so he breathes a sigh of relief and smiles sympathetically at the two teenaged girls that get turned away behind him.

The entire courtyard is filled with people, young and not-so-young, waiting patiently for their turn to meet the woman that he's come here to see. He scrubs a grease-stained hand across the back of his neck and glances up at the building beside him. He's never been here before—it's really not his scene—but he read on their website that the place used to be a saloon back before the Civil War. It's kind of cool, even if he can't really see the appeal of having thirty-two rooms filled with books. He kind of wonders why they're standing outside if there's so much space inside, but at least it's a pretty nice day.

The line is moving pretty slow, and he's pretty bored, so he glances down at the book in his hand. He didn't buy it—his wife did—or, like, actually read it, but he did flip through the first few pages (and the last couple) but the only thing that caught his interest was the author's name.  He turns over the book to the back cover and gazes down at the photograph, raking his eyes over the familiar (if slightly older) face and striking hazel eyes that can't be hidden behind the black, wire-rimmed glasses.  _Lucy Quinn._  He chuckles at the pen-name that isn't one really and the vague biography that doesn't actually reveal anything at all.

He tried looking her up on the Internet, but the only hits he got were purely about the book. He guesses it's because it's her first one, though it's rising pretty steadily on the best seller list. That's actually how he found out she'd be here, in this bookstore in Columbus. Searching the name Quinn Fabray just got him a phone listing from the people finder. If he'd have kept in touch with more people from high school, he'd probably know where she's been and what's she's been up to since graduation—well, besides the writing thing now, because, yeah; obviously.

He just wants to see her again, and he can't really explain why. Maybe it's the whole road not taken thing. He'll get hell when he gets home and his wife finds out where he spent his afternoon, but he's okay with that—it's not like he's cheating or anything. He just wants to catch up with an old friend who happens to be an old girlfriend. It's cool. His wife loves him, and she'll forgive him. She always does.

He makes another attempt at reading some of the book to pass the time, but it honestly seems kind of depressing—like, this girl just keeps getting bullied by all these kids and she's crying by page four—so he closes the cover again and checks his watch. It's been almost an hour, and he curses under his breath because there are still ten people in front of him, and he's never going to make it home before his wife finishes up at her job. His fingers tap impatiently against the book, but at least he's finally close enough to actually see her, and she kind of takes his breath away.

Quinn Fabray is even more beautiful at twenty-seven than she was at seventeen. How is that even possible? He drags his fingers through his hair, attempting to spike it up a little and hoping that his slightly receding hairline isn't too noticeable. He digs into his pocket for a mint and pops it into his mouth as his eyes continue to rake over his first love. Her hair is shorter than she wore it senior year and a little windblown, but it's sexy as hell. He's allowed to think that—he's married not dead.  She's sitting at a table, playing with the cap of the sharpie in her hand while she talks animatedly with the guy in front of her. The smile she flashes is wide and genuine, and her laughter is free and unreserved. She's nothing like the girl that he remembers.

He's one person away from her when the woman behind her leans down and whispers something into her ear, pulling her attention away long enough that she doesn't quite notice him when he finally stands in front of her and sets his copy of her book down on the table. She nods and quietly thanks the woman as she reaches for the book and opens the front cover, sharpie poised to write. "Who should I make it out to?" she asks kindly as she turns her full attention back to her task and finally looks up at him. Her breath catches and her eyes widen slightly, smile slipping just a bit as she breathes out, "Finn?"

He grins. "Hi, Quinn."

"Wow," she mutters, half under her breath, shaking her head and glancing back down at the book. Her shoulders rise and fall noticeably under the fabric of her green blouse, and when she lifts her head again, Finn is instantly propelled back to high school, facing down the head cheerleader with the sharp, icy glare. "Should I make it out to you, then?" she asks evenly.

His grin fades. "Ah...actually...my...um...my wife's the fan."

Her eyes narrow, and her left hand flexes over the cover of the book, pressing it harder into the table. The movement causes an odd flash, and Finn glances down—because his wife will be even more pissed at him if Quinn snaps the binding of her book—and finally notices the impressive diamond winking up at him.  _Engaged_ , he realizes. Well, good for her.

"And how is your wife?" she bites off the last word a little sharply, and he frowns.

"Ah...she's...you know...she's good. She's working today, so she couldn't come."

"Too bad," Quinn says with a tight smile. "I'll just make it out to her then," she tells him as she glances back down and begins to scrawl out an inscription. "I hear she's teaching now," Quinn comments casually as she signs her full name—Lucy Quinn Fabray—with a flourish before she closes the cover and slides the book back toward Finn.

"Um...yeah," he confirms quietly, brows drawn together in confusion, because he didn't expect Quinn to be so up to date on his life.

Quinn chuckles humorously and caps the sharpie, tossing it onto the table as she stands up. "I've kept in touch with Kurt," she explains, sliding her glasses off and stuffing them into the oversized bag that she picks up from beside her chair. She shoulders it awkwardly and moves away from the table so that the woman behind her and the one who's been standing guard at the end of the queue can both swoop in to begin the cleanup.

"Oh? Um...he's...he's never really mentioned you," Finn tells her, thinking back through his phone conversations with Kurt. They've sort of been few and far between over the years, and Kurt's usually talking about Broadway and his career and stuff, and Finn kind of tunes a lot of it out, but he's sure he would remember hearing about Quinn.

That one eyebrow quirks up, but she doesn't comment. They're standing face to face now, and Finn can see all of her, perfectly put together as always, in tailored slacks. She looks elegant but relaxed, and he suddenly feels really out of place next to her—sloppy and out of shape.

"You look really good," he says lamely.

"Thanks. You look," her eyes travel over him, and the corner of her mouth curves up just the tiniest bit, "just like I remember you."

Finn smiles a little, because, yeah—that's good, right? "Maybe we can catch up," he blurts out. Quinn's expression isn't exactly promising, so he rushes to clarify.  "Like a friendly cup of coffee or something."

Quinn looks away toward the building, and she bites her lip and starts to fidget with the diamond ring on her finger. "I really can't, Finn. I have someone waiting for me."

He nods and smiles.  "Your fiancé?" Her eyes snap back to his, and he points down at her hand. "You're engaged, right?"

A smile flashes over her face before she can suppress it, and even after she does, Finn can see the sparkle lingering in her eyes. "Yes, I am. We're getting married in June," she confides, then laughs and shakes her head. "I know. It's really cliché to be a June bride, but I guess I'm still an old-fashioned girl deep down," she rolls her eyes, "and my fiancé is a hopeless romantic."

"That's great, Quinn."  And he thinks he means it. She's positively glowing. "Congratulations.  On the marriage and the book thing, too," he adds.

"Thanks, Finn." And it sounds more genuine this time.

"You look really happy."

Quinn sighs and searches his face, and then on a silent laugh, she confesses, "I am. Really, really happy."

"I'm glad," he shifts his weight nervously and absently scratches at his cheek. He probably should have shaved. "So, um...where are you living these days? Your bio doesn't really say."

Quinn drags in a deep breath. "I've been in New York since I graduated college."

"Oh?"  Okay, that's, like, almost five years, now. "'Cause, Kurt's really never mentioned you being there," he complains sourly, certain now that his stepbrother never informed him that Quinn Fabray was living in New York and keeping in touch.

Her eyes narrow, and her voice drops low and turns frosty.  "My understanding is that he doesn't mention a lot of things about New York, at your request."

Finn's jaw clenches tight at the reminder. "Yeah...the...the whole R-Rachel thing," he rasps, feeling the lance of pain in his heart at the mention of her name. Years of regret born of smothered dreams rush over him.

Quinn's expression turns cold and hard.  "I think this conversation needs to be over now." She shifts her bag and takes a step to the side, and Finn almost lets her shoulder past him. Almost.

"Wait, Quinn...can I just...?" He lays a hand lightly on her arm, and she instantly shrugs it off, but she stops walking, and he hurries to tell her, "I didn't come here to, like, bring up bad memories."

Her shoulders sag a little, and she sighs, "Why  _did_  you come here?"

Finn shrugs.  "Just to...um...say how...how proud I am that you're doing so well."

Quinn tips her head back and squints up at the bright, blue sky as she takes a long moment to compose herself. "You know," she murmurs, dropping her head back down to meet his eyes, "you're a big part of the reason that I  _am_  doing so well, Finn."

Her words make him feel all warm and proud, and he smiles. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," she says flatly. "I'm grateful to you every day for cutting those tethers that would have tied us to Lima. We both are," she adds with a smug smile as her eyes drift to the side and fasten onto to something behind him. He doesn't have time to turn and see what's caught Quinn's attention before his spine feels the surge of electricity from that once-in-a-lifetime voice that's suddenly ringing out through the courtyard.

"Hey, baby, are you done basking in the adoring light of your fans, because I've already spent close to three hundred dollars on books, and if you leave me alone inside for one minute longer, I might just buy out the entire performing arts section."

It's kind of like being in an accident—that split second when everything slows down, and your stomach drops into your toes, and you know that something awful is about to happen, but you just can't stop it. He inhales the scent of pomegranate shampoo mixed with perfume that hasn't changed since they were teenagers and feels the brush of a slight form move past him, and he sees a smooth, olive-toned hand reach out and grasp firmly onto a pale, diamond-adorned one. Quinn's smile turns from smug to adoring in the blink of an eye as she leans down to capture the lips of the brunette woman who melts effortlessly into her.

Finn thinks he might be having a heart attack or something, and he reaches up to rub at his chest. Then he rubs his eyes, because he absolutely  _cannot_ be watching his ex-girlfriend kiss his ex-fiancée right in front of him. Abso-fucking-lutely impossible. But there they are, still right there with their lips fused and their bodies flush together, until Rachel slowly pulls back, and Quinn gazes down at her lovingly, and he honestly thinks he might be about to pass out.

"Mmm...you ready to go?" Rachel husks.

"So ready," Quinn practically purrs.  And damn it to hell, Finn should not be kind of turned on by that, but fuck if he doesn't feel his pants get just a little tighter. Quinn's amused eyes cut up to him, and Rachel follows her fiancée's gaze, and—God, she looks gorgeous.

Her hair is a little shorter than Finn remembers, falling in gentle waves, and the bangs are gone. Her skirt is short, showing off her amazing legs, and her white blouse is unbuttoned far enough to provide a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. Her dark eyes are smokey, and like Quinn, she's absolutely glowing with happiness. At least until she realizes that she's looking at Finn Hudson, the guy who broke her heart—and their engagement—freshmen year of college because he couldn't handle the pressure or the responsibility. Rachel's smile falls away instantly, and Finn can see her grip on Quinn tighten. Quinn pulls her closer and smiles icily at Finn.  "I think you remember my fiancée."

Rachel seems to shake off her momentary shock, and she cuts a look of warning to Quinn. "Behave," she whispers and flashes a big, fake smile at Finn. "Finn Hudson, as I live and breathe. What a...a pleasant surprise.  How are you?"

Quinn puffs out a frustrated breath.  "A pleasant surprise?  Really, Rach?"

Rachel's show face drops away, and she shrugs her shoulders sheepishly.  "Well...a surprise anyway," she mutters with a tiny frown.

"No shit," Finn grunts, still completely unable to comprehend what's he's seeing. "How...? When...? I mean, you're not even..." he trails off, gesturing helplessly between them.

Quinn rolls her eyes hard. "God, you're still  _such_  a moron."

"Quinn," Rachel admonishes with a shake of her head.  "Baby, why don't you go inside and talk to Devon about tomorrow, okay?" Quinn glowers and opens her mouth to protest, but Rachel calms her with a gentle stroke of her thumb along Quinn's lower lip. "Please. It's okay.  _I'm_  okay."

Quinn sighs and nods weakly. "I'll only be a minute," she promises, eyes locked onto Finn in warning, and scary Quinn is every bit as scary as he remembers. She purposely leans down to kiss Rachel softly, staking her claim for Finn to see, before she reluctantly disappears into the store.

Finn turns to watch her walk away, but he can't even admire the gentle sway of her really fine ass, because Rachel Berry is standing in front of him for the first time in eight years. His eyes slide back to the woman that he let get away, and her name falls from his mouth in a reverent whisper as he drinks in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. Quinn is right—he is _such_ a fucking moron.

He could have been married to this woman if he hadn't been such an immature idiot.  He'd just been so fucking lost, floundering through senior year without a plan or a purpose and clinging to Rachel like a lifeline. He'd loved her so much, and he couldn't imagine being without her, but life wasn't some lame fairytale where you just slap a ring on your woman and live happily ever after. It was a lot of hard work, and New York, NYADA, the pressure of Rachel's classes and auditions, and Finn's lack of direction and constant insecurity had chipped away at their certainty, until doubts and jealousy and temptation broke them apart forever. Maybe if Finn had just been a little more patient and let Rachel fly free for a while (and given himself time to grow the hell up and learn how to be a real man), things might have turned out differently.

Looking at Rachel now, he half-expects to see her big, brown eyes filled with love and longing, the way they always, always were so many years ago, but all he sees is—sympathy?

"Go ahead, ask me," she prompts softly, crossing her arms beneath her breasts in a way that allows him to notice, for the first time, that she's wearing a diamond ring on her own left hand that's classy and delicate and absolutely nothing like the one that  _he_ once put there.

"You and Quinn?"

Rachel chuckles lightly.  "Yes. Me and Quinn. I know it's a little surprising..."

"A little?" he scoffs.

"We never lost touch in college, Finn. I'm sure you remember that much. And after she moved to New York, we just," she shrugs, her lips curving into a shy, secret smile. "We...we've always had a connection, Finn," she explains. "It wasn't always love, but it's always been there, and it's always been strong...stronger than either of us could begin to understand while we were silly, teenage girls. Over the years, it's grown, and changed, and...somewhere along the way, I fell in love with her. Completely and totally, in a way that I never imagined I could. And I can't wait to marry her."

It stings like a bitch, hearing that from Rachel. "You told me that I was the love of your life," he mutters helplessly.

Rachel frowns and looks down at the pavement under her feet. "And when I said that, you were, but I was seventeen," she stresses, meeting his eyes again. "We hadn't even lived yet. And God knows we tried...we tried to make it work...but it just...didn't. We wanted different things, and you...well, you really hurt me, Finn, but I forgave you, because I realized that I made my own mistakes in our relationship.  I was...well, I was still such a child, really, and the things that we want as children aren't always enough to keep us happy as adults. But loving you and then losing you is ultimately what led me to Quinn, so I can't ever regret any of it. I'm happy now, Finn…really happy…and according to Kurt, you are, too."

"Yeah," he manages, because he's mostly happy, but sometimes—w ell, this just isn't what he thought his life would be like. He's good at fixing cars, anyway, and he loves his wife—he _does_. She's just...not Rachel.

"I'll admit it was a surprise when you married Harmony, of all people," Rachel muses, "but only because I imagined that she would lie, cheat, and murder her way to New York in an attempt to cut off my budding stage career at the knees, so to speak. I suppose that I really must thank you for stealing her heart away from Broadway," she finishes with a grin.

Finn swallows heavily and nods. He loves his wife—he does—he just wishes that he'd been able to steal  _Rachel's_  heart away from Broadway. "Yeah...well...anything for you," he forces out.

Rachel reaches out, wrapping her left hand around his forearm and squeezing. "Hey, Quinn and I aren't leaving for the airport until late tomorrow evening. Maybe we can all have brunch or something and talk. I'd love to see Harmony again." Though she's using that tone that she used to have when she was telling him how much she loved watching football with him. "It's been years."

Finn manages a tight smile. "I'll have to check with her. You know, she um...teaches music classes."

"So Kurt tells me." Rachel eyes him steadily, and a slow smile begins to light her face. "You know, this has been good," she nods to herself, "seeing you today. It's kind of a relief; like, we can finally say goodbye to the past and start fresh," she tells him, and he isn't about to argue, even if he doesn't exactly agree. He never could win with Rachel. "We really shouldn't lose touch again, Finn. I...well, I've kind of missed you."

He sighs and smiles sadly.  "I've missed you, too."

"Should I be worried?" Quinn asks mildly, reappearing at Rachel's side and wrapping a possessive arm around her waist. Finn sees the challenge in her hazel eyes, but he also sees a flicker of fear there. He shouldn't feel good about that sign of insecurity, but he does.

"Hardly," Rachel assures her, returning the one armed embrace and placing a quick, smiling kiss to her fiancée's lips. There isn't even a quiver of uncertainty in her voice. He doesn't feel so good about that.

Finn takes in the picture of the two of them again, this time without the fog of shock clouding his view. He honestly can't say that he's ever seen either one of them look at anyone else in quite that way. He has this weird, sudden flashback to senior year and Quinn standing in front of the glee club and telling them all that she got into Yale, and that intense look that she'd aimed at Rachel that made him feel all kinds of uncomfortable at the time. A dozen other memories come rushing back—moments he hadn't thought twice about before—and he knows that Rachel is right. There always has been some deeper connection between these two women; he just never understood what he was seeing, but he understands now, and he feels oddly okay with it. Yeah, it cuts like a fucking knife knowing that two of the girls that he's loved and had relationships with are now in love with each other, but he can see how happy they are, and he realizes that he's happy for them. He really is, and he manages a sincere smile.

"Yeah, so, I should, um...really get going. It's a long drive back to Lima."

"You'll call us about brunch?" Rachel reminds him, twisting a little and slipping her free hand into Quinn's bag to fumble around in the front pocket. "Let me give you Quinn's number."

Quinn angles her body to accommodate Rachel and shakes her head. "You could have just asked," she mumbles.

"It's more fun this way," Rachel teases with a wink, and Finn has to avert his eyes when Rachel cops an obvious feel as she withdraws her hand, little white card gripped between her fingers and all. She hands the card to Finn with a smirk, and he glances down at the elegant script and the little gold star at the end of Quinn's name. He quirks an eyebrow and smothers his grin, and Quinn ducks her head as her cheeks flush a becoming shade of pink.

"I'll let you know," he promises, stuffing the card into his shirt pocket. "Um...in case tomorrow is a no go...congratulations again...on...well, everything...yeah," he nods.

Rachel glances at Quinn and raises her brows, and Quinn sighs and gives a curt nod. Rachel grins widely and turns back to Finn.  "Well, regardless, you can expect an invitation in the mail. Be sure to keep June 16th available," she instructs.

Finn's smile slips, because happy for them or not, watching his ex-fiancée marry his ex-girlfriend isn't exactly high on his list of things to do. "Ah...yeah...we'll see."

Rachel shakes her head and reminds him, "It's a fresh start, Finn. Please come to our wedding."

He glances at Quinn, who doesn't look entirely thrilled at the idea, and she shrugs. "Most of the old glee club will be there," she tells him in lieu of a proper invitation.

"I guess we'll try to make it," he agrees. It'll be cool to see everyone again, and New York's a nice place to visit, even if he never could quite see himself living there. He's been steering clear of the city ever since—well, since Rachel.

Rachel claps happily and lets out a little squeal, and in that moment, she seems far more like her seventeen-year-old self than the mature, successful, Tony-nominated diva that she's become. Yeah, so he's kept up with her career a little, even though he never lets Kurt talk about her. Somehow, he missed the whole engaged to a woman thing, though. He really needs to improve his Internet stalking skills, because he obviously sucks at it.

Rachel melts further into Quinn's embrace, and Finn is a little taken aback at just how—well, how  _good_  they look together. Like they fit each other perfectly. "Kurt will be so thrilled that he doesn't have to tiptoe around all of this anymore," she says.

"But he's so damn good at it," Finn mutters lowly, vowing to have a word with his stepbrother about how much it hurts to be blindsided.

Rachel's smile droops, but Quinn's gets wider. "Well, it's been just grand, playing catch up with the mutual exes, but Rachel and I have a dinner reservation in ten minutes."

Rachel snaps to attention. "Oh, we do. We have to go," she agrees. "I just have to grab my books from inside." She slips out from under Quinn's arm and pauses in front of Finn, reaching out to take his hand and giving it a squeeze. "Call us, okay?" she urges, and he nods.

"I'm really happy for you, Rachel."

"We'll talk again," she promises as she lets her hand slide away, and Finn feels like he's finally letting go.

Quinn follows after Rachel, but he stops her with a word.  "Quinn?  I just have know one thing."  And when she only waits silently for him to continue, he takes a breath and meets her gaze head on.  "All of that stuff between the three of us in high school…was any of it ever really about me?"

Quinn smiles and reaches out, just like Rachel had, to squeeze his hand. "For Rachel, it was all about you," she assures him. "But for me," she pauses, eyes swirling with a depth of emotion that's he's never seen, "it was always her."

Finn nods in understanding. "Take care of her," he pleads softly.

"Until my last breath," she promises solemnly, and then, just as Rachel had, she lets go—and so does Finn.

His eyes only linger for a moment on the door that closes on his first two loves before he turns and makes his way out of the courtyard, heading down the brick path in the direction of his truck. He slides behind the steering wheel and starts to toss the book onto the passenger seat, but he pauses at the last second and cradles it in his hands instead. He gently opens the front cover and stares down at the loopy script of Quinn's inscription. He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry when he reads:

_To Harmony and Finn, Dreams are like stars...you may never touch them, but if you follow them they will lead you to your destiny. ~Lucy Quinn Fabray_

He closes the cover and shakes his head, laying the book on the seat beside him and starting up his truck. It's a long drive back to Lima, and his wife will be wondering where he is. She'll be pissed, but she'll forgive him. Because he's coming home—back to where he belongs.


End file.
